Midnight in the Maze Page 5

  I tried to push down the bitterness. I had to think positive, right? This gave me a great opportunity to get to know him again, maybe build some kind of father-son relationship.

  And maybe Dr. Phil would host some kind of heartwarming family reunion for us.

  There weren’t many people around the luggage claim. I could hear the squeak and rumble of rollers on the carousel over the quiet murmur of voices. I looked at each face carefully, trying to find Chuck. He had the same reddish-brown hair as me, so he should stand out among the Cameroonians. Unless he wore a hat like one of those Outback-style ones the group of college kids by the big windows had. My gaze made another pass. I had no idea what I would do if Chuck wasn’t here. My fancy phone might still play music and take pictures (assuming the battery wasn’t already dead), but the likelihood of getting service out here… yeah, not likely.

  A splash of neon green on black nylon caught my attention. My big duffel bag had dropped from the chute and started making its way around the carousel. I squeezed past a lady in a boldly patterned skirt and reached in front of a businessman to grab my bag. I hefted it out of the way and moved back until I had a good view of the whole area. Still no one who looked like my father. At least no one who looked like I remembered.

  A massive African man wearing denim cutoff shorts and a Bob Marley T-shirt stepped to the side, revealing a younger guy who didn’t quite fit in among tourists and adventurers who came to see gorillas or rhinos or whatever in the parks. He wore khaki shorts with several pockets and a blue polo shirt. Sturdy hiking books covered his feet. The sign he held really set him apart, though—ISAIAH MARTIN.

  I clutched my bag and walked over to him. I nodded at the sign. “I take it my dad couldn’t be bothered to come himself. What did he do, send one of his do-gooder minions to pick me up?”

  The dude narrowed his eyes, clearly not happy with my tone, or maybe he didn’t like being described as a minion. Either way, I didn’t care. I should have known Chuck would send someone. He had important responsibilities, after all. I wanted to spit. Pressure built behind my eyes, but I refused to acknowledge the disappointment. Easier to focus on the resentment.

  “He’d have come, but there was an emergency. I’m Henry.”

  “Right.” I shrugged.

  He glared at me. I didn’t know why, but something about that severe look amused me. Maybe because it didn’t seem to fit comfortably on such a pretty face. He really was pretty too. Gorgeous, in fact. His face was smooth and tan from time spent in the sun, with light brown eyes, almost golden in the streaming light from the windows. He’d pulled his shoulder-length brown hair back into a ponytail at the nape of his neck. His features weren’t feminine, not really, but the word pretty suited him more than handsome.

  “Your father has—”

  “Don’t bother,” I said, cutting off his explanation. “I really don’t need to hear it. He hasn’t seen fit to talk to me in the last ten years; another day isn’t going to break my heart. What’s the plan from here?”

  Henry folded the sign in half and tossed it into a trash bin. “We’ll head to Doumé tonight. We should get there before dark. We’ll crash at a boarding house, and tomorrow we’ll have six or seven hours until we reach the camp.”

  A couple of questions floated into my head—mostly about the travel arrangements. I had a vague recollection of traveling from village to village crammed into a rusty van like circus clowns in a tiny car. Before I could ask about it, chaos erupted from the other side of the baggage claim.

  Men in official-looking uniforms tried to haul a struggling and shouting man deeper into the airport. The captive man twisted and jerked in their grasp, all the while screaming curses at the security crew. I may not have known the language, but there was no mistaking the cursing. The captive—a skinny, sweaty man who looked like he was made up of sinew and joints rather than muscle and bones—twisted and bit at an arm that came close to his face. One of the guards yipped and pulled his injured arm back. The captive took advantage of the loosened grip and jerked free, sprinting forward with the speed of an Olympian.

  A hush fell over the baggage claim area.

  My eyes widened. Henry and I stood between the charging man and the exit.

  Before I could make my feet move, Henry looped an arm around my waist and pulled me out of the way. The man darted around someone’s abandoned suitcase, hurdled a taped-up box only to trip over a green-and-black duffel bag. He flew a few feet before skidding along the polished floor, stopping steps away from Henry and me. Guards rushed over, tackling the stunned man before he could get up again.

  It probably lasted only a couple of seconds, but my body shook as though I’d been involved in a drawn-out accident. Noise resumed, a little quieter than it had been before the distraction, but it soon grew to normal levels.

  “What the hell was that?” I reached for my duffel bag, only then realizing the bag the man tripped over was mine. Whoa.

  “Smuggler, probably,” Henry said.

  “Smuggler? As in drugs?”

  “Yeah, drugs, weapons, diamonds. People try to smuggle all sorts of crazy things through here. Even animals.”

  “How do you smuggle an animal? Pack it in your suitcase?”

  Henry shrugged. “If someone wants an endangered bird or something for a pet badly enough and they have the money, there’s always someone who’ll find a way.” He shook his head, disgust clear in his pursed lips and serious expression.

  We stood there a minute in awkward silence. Henry lost in thought and me unsure what to do or say.

  “So,” Henry finally said, “ready to go?”

  I grabbed my bag and hooked the strap over my shoulder. “You have a vehicle?”

  “I’ve got one of the camp’s Range Rovers,” he said. “We have to make a quick stop in the city proper to pick up some supplies, so if you’re hungry we can grab something there. We’ll be in the university district, so there will be a lot of options for food.”

  Look at him, being the good host. “That works.”

  “Let me help with your bag.” Henry reached for my duffel.

  I jerked it away. “I’ve got it.”

  He shrugged and headed toward an exit. When we stepped through the glass doors, I stopped, cringing against the blinding afternoon sunlight. I dropped my duffel, shrugged out of my backpack, and started digging through it. I grabbed my sunglasses, blinking in relief when the glare no longer seared my eyeballs. I’d left Wisconsin in late spring and somehow, through the magic of modern transportation, had ended up in late summer. Or at least what felt like late summer. If I remembered correctly, it was actually fall in Cameroon.

  I followed Henry to a parking lot on the east side of the building, where dozens of red-dust-covered vehicles sat in rows. Henry stopped at a four-wheel-drive Range Rover and opened the back door. “Toss your stuff in here. We’ll need the cargo space in the back for the supplies we’re picking up.”

  “What are we bringing back?”

  “Medical supplies. Mostly bandages, gauze. You know, peroxide, disinfectants, and the like. Usually we make the trip every few months, but since you’re here, we’re picking up our order a couple weeks earlier than normal.”

  “Handy,” I muttered. “A twofer.” God forbid anyone should have to go out of their way to pick me up.

  I could do this. I only had to make it through three months, two weeks, and five days, and then I could go back home.

  Want more Do-Gooder? Find it at Harmony Ink Press (harmonyinkpress.com) or your favorite on-line retailer.

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  j. leigh bailey is an office drone by day and the author of Young Adult and New Adult LGBT Romance by night. She can usually be found with her nose in a book or pressed up against her computer monitor. A book-a-day reading habit sometimes gets in the way of... well, everything...but some habits aren't worth breaking. She's been reading romance novels since she was ten years old. The last twenty years or so have not changed her v
oracious appetite for stories of romance, relationships and achieving that vitally important Happy Ever After. She's a firm believer that everyone, no matter their gender, age, sexual orientation or paranormal affiliation deserves a happy ending.

  She wrote her first story at seven, which was, unbeknownst to her at the time, a charming piece of fan-fiction in which Superman battled (and defeated, of course) the nefarious X Luther. She was quite put out to be told, years later, that the character's name was actually Lex. Her second masterpiece should have been a best-seller, but the action-packed tale of rescuing her little brother from an alligator attack in the marshes of Florida collected dust for years under the bed instead of gaining critical acclaim.

  Now she writes Young Adult LGBT Romance novels about boys traversing the crazy world of love, relationships and acceptance.

  OTHER BOOKS BY THE AUTHOR

  Please visit your favorite ebook retailer to discover other books by j. leigh bailey:

  Shifter U Series (Paranormal, Dreamspinner Press)

  Stalking Buffalo Bill

  Chasing Thunderbird (Coming Soon)

  The Night Owl and the Insomniac (Coming Soon)

  Young Adult Titles

  Do-Gooder

  Guyliner

  The Letting Go Series (New Adult, Carina Press)

  Nobody’s Hero

  Reckless Hope

  Fight to Forgive

  Horror/Paranormal Short Stories

  Wendigo Dreams

  The Twelfth Monster of Chaos

  Under the Hunter’s Moon

  Runaway

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